Hell and Back
by Chiz
Summary: You know your family’s different when Daddy helped bugger up the Apocalypse, your Grampy is called Pes- Pesti- a big long word, and your Uncle likes to play Vice City in an actual city. So what? They all love you, and they'd go to Hell and back for you...
1. Past: In Which Churchillette Shows Up

****

Hell and Back

Overall Description - You know your family's _different_ when Daddy will probably help bugger up the Apocalypse, your Grampy is called Pest - Pestil - a big long word that means you don't feel good, and your Uncle likes to play Vice City in an actual city... But who cares? They all love you anyways. In fact, they'd go to Hell and Back for you...

A/N - Completely random thought...no idea how much sugar I'd had that day, or what. Anyways, it is cute, non? Or it will be, eventually. Not particularly original, I suppose, but for this particular section, yes, it kind of is... This fic was written purely for the sake of satisfying a random idea.

It will be divided into three sections, Past, Present, and Epilogue, with various chapters within those sections. And the timeline is different than the Good Omens one. Enjoy!

Disclaimer - Don't own. Am trying to come up with a way to successfully capture Aziraphale or Crowley. Am not having any luck.

(Oh yeah! Forgot to mention! NO SLASH! So depending on whether or not that's your thing, make up your mind whether you're going to read this or not! Still here? OK! Here we go!)

-8-

Past

_Rrrriiiiiiiiinnnnng!_

"Damn!" said Crowley, forced to leave off causing a traffic jam in the street in front of his apartment.

_Rrrrriiiiiiiiiinnnnnngg!_

Crowley sighed and left the balcony, going back into the apartment. The demon sauntered over to the phone and waited, then picked it up in the middle of the fifth ring, a split second before the ansaphone would have picked it up. He liked to frustrate callers like that. It was a demon thing (1). "Yeah?"

"Crowley! Thank goodness! I've been trying to catch up with you for hours now! Where were you?" Aziraphale's voice sounded far more frantic than the demon had ever heard it.

"Out. Hey, I found this really excellent restaurant -"

"Listen, Crowley, this is urgent -"

"It had better be. I was working."

"Will you shut up and listen to me!" The angel had nearly lost his patience. "I need to talk to you!"

"What is it?" Crowley knew it was time to stop baiting the other before he witnessed divine rage.

"I can't tell you over the phone. You have to come to the hospital."

"Hospital? What the hell are _you_ doing in a hospital?"

"No time to explain. You have to come _now_. I can't talk much longer. I've got to get back."

"What hospital? What ward?"

"London General. I - I'll meet you at the front. I've got to go -"

Crowley cut him off, sensing something big, something that made the angel...guilty. "Wait a minute. Aziraphale...does this have anything to do with when you phoned me a couple months ago and asked me exactly what would qualify as a mortal sin? Or... perhaps you meant an _immortal_ one? What have you done?"

Pause. "No - I - I'll tell you when you get here," he said finally. "I've got to go, Crowley."

_Click._

Crowley stared at the phone in dismay before reluctantly replacing it. "What have you got yourself into _now_, angel?" he muttered under his breath before heading for his coat.

-8-

Aziraphale had been waiting outside for fifteen very tense minutes before the Bentley pulled up and parked in the No Parking zone. Crowley got out and strode up the walk towards Aziraphale, looking distinctly miffed. "Sorry I'm late. Got caught in my own damn traffic jam. Where's the fire?"

"Follow me." The angel set off at a great pace. Crowley had to jog to keep up. Aziraphale didn't notice. His mind was back in the hospital room already.

"Where are we going?"

Aziraphale didn't answer. Crowley strained to read the names on the walls as they entered a ward. He stopped, and stared, completely bewildered, and then had to sprint to catch up with his friend. "_Maternity_?! What in Hell's name are we doing _here_? Are you sure we're going to the right place?"

"We're going to the right place." Aziraphale took a right, then a left, then another left, and then stopped in front of a door. Crowley almost collided with him. He'd stopped very unexpectedly.

The angel put his hand on the doorknob, paused, and turned to look earnestly at the demon. He swallowed hard. He had to explain now, before Crowley saw. "I've got myself into a mess."

"I figured as much."

"I've got myself into a really _big_ mess."

"A big mess that got someone into the Maternity ward. Yeah. I know."

Aziraphale looked miserable.

"I can't believe this. I really can't believe this. I mean, _you_, of all people -" A wicked smile flickered across Crowley's face. "This is just too rich. You, of all people, getting some woman knocked up -"

Aziraphale turned bright red. "Do not say that," he hissed. "She is my _wife_. We are _married_. It isn't anything like what you think it is!"

"Still, I'm impressed, Aziraphale. Really, I am. However, I know someone who won't be. Heaven. Is that why I'm here? So I can help you keep this under wraps?"

"I was hoping you would help me keep this from getting to Heaven's attention, yes. But I also felt that you deserved to know, so if I Fall -" Aziraphale looked wretched. "I don't want to Fall for this. I'd be banished to Hell for all eternity, and Sara and our child would be all alone. So, if I do Fall -"

There was a long, hopeful pause, and then the penny dropped. "Oh no you don't."

"Please, Crowley?" begged Aziraphale.

"No. You are _not_ pinning that responsibility on me!"

"They don't have anyone else, Crowley! You're the only one I trust to do something like this for me! You're the only one besides Sara that I _do_ trust. After all, you were almost in the same position -"

Crowley's expression froze over. "That was a long time ago."

"But still, you -"

"It's history now, OK? And anyways, I'm still not being Replacement Daddy for you, because you are _not_ going to Fall! We're going to keep this quiet and your precious little family together because otherwise _I'll_ be stuck with them! I'm doing this to save my _own_ skin. Are we clear?"

A small smile grew on Aziraphale's face, then wilted and died.(2) "I knew I could count on you. Thank you, Crowley."

"Huh." Crowley snorted. "Yeah. Count on me. That's right. Come on, you might as well introduce me to the rest of your family, before it gets any bigger. Lead the way, angel."

All was quiet in the hospital room. The pale woman in the bed had her eyes closed as though she were sleeping. Her auburn curls were still damp with sweat from the labour of birth. She looked utterly exhausted.

"This is Sara. "Aziraphale reached out and took her hand in both of his. "You made me miss the end of her labour," he added, somewhat reproachfully.

"Aziraphale?" Sara opened her eyes, smiled sleepily up at him. He stroked her hair fondly. "Everything's fine. It's a girl."

"A girl. That's wonderful, darling. Where is she?"

Sara pointed to the bassinet beside her. Both supernatural beings leaned over to look. The child was sleeping. Reddish fuzz covered her head, and her eyes were screwed up tightly. She looked much like all newborns look, really. If Crowley did not have the proof before him he would never, never, never have believed it was Aziraphale's, but there it was.

"She's beautiful," the angel told his wife. She nodded, and closed her eyes again.

"We need to name her," she said drowsily.

"How about Churchill-ette?" said Crowley under his breath. Aziraphale elbowed the demon hard and hoped Sara hadn't heard him.

"No...that doesn't seem right..." she murmured. "Mistaya...? ...or Simone..."

"Don't worry about it now, Sara," Aziraphale said kindly. "You need to rest. Go back to sleep..."

"How about...Adele?"

"Adele?" Aziraphale looked confused for a moment, then he turned to look at his daughter. In a way, she did look like an Adele. "Yes, I think that's perfect."

"Good..." Sara said sleepily. Within moments her breathing was deep and even.

Aziraphale watched his wife and child sleepily tenderly for a long moment, until Crowley poked him in the arm.

"Hey. Does she know the kid's half-angel?" he asked in a stage whisper.

Aziraphale nodded. "She knows everything. I care too much for her to be dishonest with her."

"Very noble of you, I'm sure. Yet, by falling for her in the first place, she'll almost certainly lose you forever, plus she'll be damned to Hell when Above finds out. You know how they are about this kind of stuff, especially when it involves angels. With demons, it's almost expected." Crowley smirked. "You should have been born a demon, angel. It would have made this all _much_ easier."

Aziraphale looked miserable. "I know all that. I warned her at the start, when she wanted to get married. She didn't listen, Crowley. She told me that love's more important than anything."

"More important than eternal torment?"

"Shut up. Above's not going to find out. I'll go to Hell myself, first."

"One of us probably will, before this is over," Crowley predicted gloomily.

-8-

(1) As was the concept of telemarketing, but that's another story.

(2) Aziraphale never did have a knack for plants of any description, even metaphorical ones.


	2. Present: In Which Crowley Babysits

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Hell And Back

Overall Description - You know your family's _different_ when Daddy will probably help bugger up the Apocalypse, your Grampy is called Pest - Pestil - a big long word that means you don't feel good, and your Uncle likes to play Vice City in an actual city... But who cares? They all love you anyways. In fact, they'd go to Hell and Back for you...

Disclaimer - Not mine. Anyone got any ideas on demon-baiting? Do you stake out some gorgeous old car in London and wait until some guy in all black and sunglasses unlocks it and gets in, and then you pop up and drive away real fast or what? And angel-baiting? Do I have to offer gavotte lessons or something? Yeesh. This isn't easy...

(Oh yeah! Forgot to mention! NO SLASH! So depending on whether or not that's your thing, make up your mind whether you're going to read this or not! Still here? OK! Here we go!)

-8-

Present

__

Ding dong.

The curtains moved aside, and he smiled at the pair of blue eyes, framed by curly strawberry blonde hair, peering out at him. The curtain dropped again almost immediately, and he could hear the little girl yelling from inside the house, "Mummy! Daddy! Uncle Curly's here!"

The door opened and five-year-old Adele Angelo took a flying leap at him. Crowley caught his little adopted niece in mid-air, rather than let her cut off all circulation in his legs, and spun her around as he returned her enthusiastic hug.

"Again! Again!"

Sara, who had followed her daughter to the door, smiled as Britain's worst (1) demon obligingly spun Adele around again, hoisting her up onto his shoulders with the extra momentum.

"Hi," said Crowley with a sheepish and rather pained grin. (2) "I'm not late, am I? There was an accident on Ninetieth. Cars stacked up for miles."

Sara shook her head, knowing very well that the demon had probably caused it himself. "You're not late. Come on in, Anthony. Aziraphale's still in the shower."

Crowley had to crouch a bit so that he could fit in the door. Adele had refused to get down off his shoulders, and since she hung onto his hair when he tried to pull her down, he had given in to her superior arguing power. "Where are you two off to tonight?"

"The theatre. The play's supposed to be really excellent. Pestilence is coming with us. He wants to see how many people he can infect with some new strain of flu." Sara rolled her eyes. "Never mind that he's a 'grandpa' now. Once a Horseman, always a Horseman, eh?"

"Yeah. Hey, Angel, do you mind getting down _now_? Only Uncle Crowley's getting a real sore neck."

"OK," Adele said after a moment's thought, and she let him swing her down without a fuss and without taking most of the demon's hair with her. "I want to make you a pony, Uncle Curly," she announced. "Can I? Please?"

"Uh, sure," he said, non-plussed. Adele ran off towards her room. "Uh, what did she mean?" he asked her mother.

Sara suppressed a grin. "You just promised to let her 'decorate' your hair."

Crowley stared. "What?"

Adele ran back to them, now carrying a handful of scrunchies and barrettes. "Okay, Uncle Curly, we're ready!"

A look of horror shot onto Crowley's features, and lodged there. "Oh no."

"Oh _yes_," said Sara, unable to suppress her grin any longer. "You promised, after all. Go on."

He moaned as Adele tugged on his hand and pulled him into the living room.

Aziraphale wandered out of the bedroom, adjusting his tie. "Did I hear Crowley come in? Where is he?"

"In the living room. Adele wanted to make him a pony."

"What?" Curious, Aziraphale went to go look.

Crowley glared up at the angel as he poked his head around the corner. "Don't say it, Aziraphale."

"It suits you." Aziraphale smiled broadly at his friend's enraged look. Combined with the myriad of little ponytails sprouting out of his head, he looked really very amusing.

"Daddy!" Adele abandoned Crowley momentarily to hug her father's legs. Aziraphale bent to hug her back. "Where are you going?"

"We're going to a play, honey. We'll be back after your bedtime."

"Why can't you an' Mummy an' Grampy _an'_ Uncle Curly stay here?"

"Because Grandpa got us the tickets, and Mummy and I would like a night out." He kissed her. "You'll be good for Uncle Crowley, won't you?"

"Uh-huh."

"You'll keep him in line?"

"Yes, Daddy." She giggled.

"It looks like you're having fun already," he said with a glance at Crowley's new hairstyle. "She's a little excited," Aziraphale warned Crowley. "She'll probably run you ragged. She's eaten, so you just have to -"

"- get her a bath, bed at nine, earlier if she's sleepy or driving me up the wall, no more sugary treats before bed, or water for at least an hour before, you'll be home around ten-ish if the play doesn't run late," Crowley recited. He knew it off by heart. Aziraphale _always_ made him babysit for Adele. Always. "Yeah. Got it."

"Yes. Thank you again, Crowley. You always help us out."

The demon shrugged, tried to look nonchalant (3). He would never have admitted it, but he secretly rather liked it when Aziraphale and Sara had a night out.

Now forget you ever read that.

-8-

It was late now, nearly nine. Crowley was exhausted. Adele had made him play Hide an' Seek, and Tag out in the backyard. And House. And Barbies. And she made him give her piggy-back rides. All right, so she didn't _make_ him. She _suggested_, and Crowley, being the nice, well-mannered, soft-hearted demon that he was (4), had gone along with every last one of them. His only retaliation was to do little demonic things, like making the Barbies be suicidal teenage girls who would hang themselves off the doorknob on one of their little pink dresses. For some incomprehensible reason this had delighted Adele greatly.

He was reading to her now. Adele was curled up in his lap, heedless of the fact that his clothes were still quite damp from her bath,(5) listening intently to his version of the Three Bears.

"-So Goldilocks picked up the first bazooka, the one that belonged to Baby Bear. "This bazooka is too small," she said. Goldilocks picked up the Mama Bear's gun next. "This bazooka is _still_ too small," she said. Goldilocks picked up Papa Bear's bazooka. A wicked grin spread across her face. "This bazooka is _just right_," said Goldilocks. "Now, let's go find a traffic warden..."

Crowley paused in his reading. He thought he'd heard something outside.

"That's not how it goes," Adele protested.

"Yes, it is," he answered absently, still intent on the noise.

"No it isn't. Daddy told me so. Goldilocks makes _friends_ with the bears," she insisted. "An' then they all go an' have a picnic in the woods -"

Crowley's ears pricked again. Something _definitely_ wasn't right.

The faint screaming he could hear from the general direction of the street was a pretty good hint.

"- an' then Mama Bear teaches Baby Bear an' Goldilocks how to _share_, an' -"

"Shush," he told her. She twisted in confusion and looked up at him, hurt by the harsh note in his voice, scared because she felt his heart rate suddenly soar. He pushed her gently off his lap and got up.

"Where are you going, Uncle Curly?"

"You stay right here, Adele. I mean it." He looked back partway down the hallway to check, and she was standing in the doorway, wide-eyed. _"Stay there_."

Crowley went to the entranceway and peeked out the glass window at the top of the door.

Something was flowing down the street like an oozing mound of termites. Only it wasn't termites, Crowley realized. It was _worse_. It was _maggots_, maggots that engulfed any pedestrains still out on the street. And it was coming in their direction.

"Oh _shit_," said Crowley. You didn't manage to be a demon as long as he had been and not know what that was.

It was another demon. Probably a powerful one, too. What was it doing here? Crowley didn't know, nor did he care. He dashed back to his adopted niece's room, and scooped up the little girl. "We're getting out of here. We'll finish the story another time, I promise, Angel."

She struggled in his grip, not understanding. "Why? I want down!"

Crowley slipped into the kitchen, eyes wildly taking in the fridge, the aquarium, the laundry room entrance - the back door.

Crowley and Adele shot out through that door just as the front door gave under the wave of maggots. The other demon writhed into the house.

Realizing eventually that no one was home, the mass entity resolved itself into a tall, angular dark figure with burning red eyes.

"_Damn_!" spat Rhakal, upstart demon, and bent on revenge for something. "The flash bastard got away again."

-8-

(1) Okay, yes, and only

(2) Adele was trying to give her 'uncle' a ponytail on the top of his head.

(3) And probably failed. _You_ try looking cool when your head looks like a fuzzy sea urchin.

(4) Yes, we know. Don't laugh.

(5) Adele liked to splash. Enough said.


	3. Present: In Which Everyone Worries

****

Hell And Back

Overall Description - You know your family's _different_ when Daddy will probably help bugger up the Apocalypse, your Grampy is called Pest - Pestil - a big long word that means you don't feel good, and your Uncle likes to play Vice City in an actual city... But who cares? They all love you anyways. In fact, they'd go to Hell and Back for you....

Disclaimer - Not mine. I'll be writing to Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman any day now to ask if I can, errr, _borrow_, the famous duo...

(Oh yeah! Forgot to mention! NO SLASH! So depending on whether or not that's your thing, make up your mind whether you're going to read this or not! Still here? OK! Here we go!)

-8-

"Twenty," said Pestilence proudly. "Ha! You see, angel? I'm not out of it yet."

"Very good," Sara said, smiling at the older man.

"It would have been, if I hadn't just healed twelve of them," said Aziraphale. "Wait. Thirteen."

Pestilence glared at the angel. "Party-pooper."

It was intermission, and the three were mixing with the crowd out in the lobby of the theatre. The (former) Horseman was using this opportunity to breath viruses and bacteria onto everyone who passed by.

Aziraphale checked his watch. "We're going to be later than I thought. Should we call Crowley, do you think?"

"Maybe," said Sara. "You worry too much."

"It's Crowley. Every molecule of worry is justified."

"...Point taken."

Aziraphale went to find a pay phone. He stuck in a few coins, dialed his home number, and listened to it ring.

And ring. And ring.

No one picked up.

Aziraphale tried again, a cold finger of worry sliding down his spine. This time he didn't even bother with the ritual of coins. He let it ring twice as long (1), and twice as long again.

And still no one picked up.

This didn't make any sense. The demon was a night owl, and it wasn't even nine-thirty. Even if he was asleep and hadn't heard it, Adele would probably have woken up and gone to answer it.

But no one had answered.

He made his was through the crowd back to Sara and Pestilence, fighting off fear as well as people. "Nobody's home."

"What? Impossible. Anthony's probably outside or something."

"I let it ring _twenty-six times_, and I called _twice_, Sara. No one is home."

"Oh my God. I hope nothing's wrong."

"Pardon me. May I be of assistance?"

The three turned, and stared at the neatly dressed man who stood before them, smiling in a friendly manner. "I could not help but overhear your conversation, although of course it is considered extremely bad manners to eavesdrop on another's conversation. I felt in this case it was justified. You are A. Ziraphale and company?"

"No," said Aziraphale, on instinct. He didn't like this man. "We don't know what you are talking about."

"Truly? Pity. I could have _sworn_ I recognized you, Aziraphale, but if you want to play games, angel..."

"Who _are_ you?" Sara said harshly as her husband stiffened in shock.

"Me? I assumed that my divine friend here would recognize me, us being old friends and all, but as it seems he cannot even remember his own name, he cannot be expected to remember mine. Nevertheless, I -"

"You always did love to hear yourself talk, didn't you, Razael?" said Aziraphale coolly.

The other angel smiled brightly. "Ah, so you _do_ remember me. Excellent. This makes everything _so_ much less awkward, and I do hate awkwardness. Who doesn't? So - to business. Have you seen Rhakal?"

"Rhakal?" Aziraphale frowned. "Who is he?"

"A demon, of course. What did you think? Don't tell me you've never heard of him? Oh, silly me, of _course_ you haven't heard of him. You've been living on this dreadful planet in a mortal form for over four thousand years. Rhakal was lower than the _imps_ to start with. However, your companions appear to be Horsemen - apologies, madame, sincere apologies - _Horsepersons_, so perhaps they know of whom I speak? I believed he has aided you both, at various times."

He didn't know who or what Sara was. Aziraphale could have shouted for joy. He thought Sara was _War_. Which was erroneous, but in a good way. She was safe. (2)

Pestilence nodded. "He has."

Sara added, "Why do you wish to know?"

Razael beamed. "Well, my dear lady, this becomes rather complicated, don't you know, but I shall do my best to explain it to you. Rhakal is a petty demon, a lowly demon. Recently he has greatly gained power for himself, in a typical demon manner of couse, revealing all sorts of handy knowledge and information, and dirty laundry - oh, he is a climber, that one, he is. Very powerful. He'd do well in the world of human business, I do believe. And he never forgets anything, be it friend, foe, fey spell, rumours...or grudges. Our Rhakal likes to hold grudges, you know. And he's got such a lot of them, mostly against various angels that he knew either before or after his Fall and damnation. I suppose it's a demon thing. I see you looking confused, dear fellow. Perhaps you'd recognize his angelic name with more ease? He changed it when he Fell, you know, made it evil and ugly. It used to be Cunarophale. Do you recognize it now? Apparently there were a few small matters he wishes to put to rights, as it were, between the two of you. No? Don't you remember?"

Aziraphale shook his head, overwhelmed. "No. No, I don't. It was so long ago..."

"Not to Rhakal, I suppose. Oh, dear. You aren't _aware_ that Heaven and Hell have been communicating actively for the first time in centuries either, are you? According to what I've heard - of course I cannot trust everything I hear, but so _many_ people are saying it - yes, what I've heard is that Rhakal has already taken care of his grudges Below. Horrible, nasty business, I hear. Absolutely _wretched_. You almost have to feel sorry for them. Now, speaking of demons - I was given to know that you have a demon who is also residing in London, under the name A.J. Crowley, in your acquaintance? No, no, don't be alarmed, dear fellow. You are not in trouble. You see, Rhakal has a few small grudges against this demon as well as against you, and it has been decided that in both Heaven and Hell's best interests that it would be best if _both_ of you have a protector until I, as protector, am able to 'shut him down', if I may use such a quaint, human phrase." Razael studied Aziraphale. "You could help me immensely if you could tell me where either Rhakal or this Crowley are. As I said earlier, I could not help but overhear you speaking of a Crowley earlier. Perhaps they are the same?"

Aziraphale hesitated. It was impossible. It was insane. But he knew from past experience that Razael was not bright enough to come up with such a story on his own.(3) He decided it would be better to tell the truth. "They are," he said, a little reluctantly, "but unfortunately it will not do you any good to know this. He's gone."

"Gone." Razael's voice was bland and disbelieving.

"He was at my house. Keeping an eye on a couple things. I called at intermission to see how things were going, and he never answered."

"He's a demon, old chap. What reason could he possibly have _to_ answer?"

"I let it ring twenty-six times," the angel said grimly. "He would have answered simply to keep himself from being driven insane. And he was kept _in_ the house by...a certain something I had left there. The three of us had ought to go back there and find out what has happened."

"I'll go call a taxi, then," said Pestilence, heading for the door.

"But of _course_, I must come with you as well," said Razael immediately. His smile was still broad. "You are, after all, in my charge. Supposing that Rhakal managed to find you on the way home?"

Aziraphale groaned beneath his breath in dismay. There went any hopes of shaking this idiot off. So...what now?

-8-

Adele was not the type of child to shriek and scream and cry when she was afraid. She had probably got her stoicness from her father, who was the type to simply turn pale, say, 'Oh, dear,' in a faint tone of voice, and then get down to business. Although, Crowley had seen her mother in some tough situations as well, and the human woman was definitely not someone who bleated hysterically at the first sign of trouble. She was more the type to take the part of the underdog, strike first, and worry about the ethics later.

Adele was, as aforesaid, neither shrieking nor screaming nor crying. She was, however, clinging so tightly to Crowley's neck that he was having more than a little trouble breathing. His feet faltered every now and then as he pounded on down the cobblestone alley, away from the demon pursuing them.

Why was it pursuing them? What had Crowley done? He didn't know.(4) He hadn't been Below for...oh, nearly four thousand years now, wasn't it? However, he certainly was _not_ going to turn around and ask it politely what the Hell it thought it was doing. He had to get Adele to safety first. Then he would do something to find out what this was all about -

Whoa. Hold on. It was _him_ in danger, right? Not the little girl? It wasn't like anyone knew about her, after all. So shouldn't he try to make sure his _own_ skin was safe first? That was logical, wasn't it? Of course it was, if you were a demon, and that was what Crowley undeniably was. So why wasn't he going to do it?

__

She's only five.

Oh yeah, and Aziraphale would probably murder me if I let anything happen to her.

Hoo boy...

Crowley looked back over his shoulder. The other demon was closing in. "_Shit_."

"You _swore_," said Adele with all the horror one might expect from an angel's child.

"Yes, I did, Angel. And I get the feeling I'm going to again. So either don't listen, or pay attention so you can try to shock Daddy with them later, OK?"

_Angels_, he thought with vague scorn.

__

Wings...

_Of course...I'm such an idiot!_ (5)

And as he ran around a corner, with a piece of Hell literally on his heels, Crowley took back his true form.

-8-

(1) Aziraphale hated ansaphones. When asked, he claimed that every time he used one he couldn't bear knowing he was furthering the Devil's work.

(2) At least until the _real_ War found out about this.

(3) Well, he was _almost_ 100 sure. Pretty sure. Fairly certain. There was a fifty-fifty chance. Or something. Anyways, he was pretty sure that there wasn't a very good chance that he was making the whole thing up.

(4) Or rather he _did_ know what he'd done, he just didn't think it was very likely that some demon was ticked off at him for inventing things like Manchester and value-added-tax and Welsh-language television.

(5) No comment.


	4. Present: In Which We See Divine Wrath

Hell And Back

Overall Description - You know your family's _different_ when Daddy will probably help bugger up the Apocalypse, your Grampy is called Pest - Pestil - a big long word that means you don't feel good, and your Uncle likes to play Vice City in an actual city... But who cares? They all love you anyways. In fact, they'd go to Hell and Back for you....

A/N - Woohoo! Reviews! Thank you all muchly, and continue to critique me. Have fun with this chappie. It's where we find out a bunch of stuff, namely why this is called what it is. And other stuff is in here too... like a bit of Crowley torture. Don't hurt me!

Disclaimer - Not mine. Although the mental image of Crowley in a black muscle shirt IS mine. Don't you _dare_ take it from me. -.-

(Oh yeah! Forgot to mention! NO SLASH! So depending on whether or not that's your thing, make up your mind whether you're going to read this or not! Still here? OK! Here we go!)

-8-

"Oh my _God_," said Sara, her voice rising shrilly as the taxi pulled up in front of the house.

The door had been smashed brutally from its hinges. Parts of the frame had been torn loose, and the bits that had stubbornly managed to stay attached looked as though they had been gnawed on.

Aziraphale and Sara jumped out of the taxi immediately and ran into the house. Pestilence and Razael followed more slowly, Razael because he had insisted on paying the fare and was currently talking the driver's ear off, Pestilence because...well, because it wasn't really his territory, was it? He wasn't supposed to have to deal with the shock of Adele's parents; after all, he was only an adoptive grandfather. And _someone_ needed to watch out for that daft angel. Right?

The former Horseman had never been a family man. It didn't go with the job. But retirement left room for family and socializing. However, Pestilence had never had a family, and to call it 'socializing' was a bit of a joke, for several reasons, one of them being that people quite literally got sick of being around him. Often. (1) The other reason was this: because he was a has-been, a Horseman who had given up his job in disgust, none of the immortal crowd much liked to be seen with him. It was if they'd have preferred it if he didn't exist any more the moment he had quit.

Pestilence had become a hermit, of sorts, only leaving his new little bungalow to visit the greengrocer or the bookshop down the way. And wasn't it such a surprise to discover that the nice Mr. Ziraphale who ran the bookshop was actually an angel, remembered his somwhat kindly, and actually didn't object to his company. It was even _more_ of a surprise to discover that the righteous angel had a human family. He had found this out by accident in the greengrocer's, when he had tried to give the red-haired woman and the little girl scarlet fever, but at least once Aziraphale was through railing at him, he (eventually) had been allowed to adopt them. Or they had adopted him. Or something. Anyways, he had family now, and it sure as Hell beat out being alone.

He was worried about his granddaughter, of couse. He knew, deep down in his gut, that Rhakal had already caught up to Crowley and Adele. But he was only an adoptive grandfather, and right now he knew enough to know that Aziraphale and Sara should deal with their shock by themselves, without his interference. Plus, perhaps by the time Razael actually shut up, maybe Aziraphale and Sara would be reasonable enough to think of a way to track them down and get them back.

Inside the house was a disaster area. Things had been knocked every which way all down the front hall. Razael, having talked so much that the taxi driver had given up and gone away without actually being paid, now stopped in the doorway. His nose wrinkled in disgust. "This house reeks of demon," he announced. "Rhakal was here."

"Brilliant observation, Sherlock," said Pestilence, rather testily, and pushed past the angel with the intent of finding Sara and Aziraphale.

They were in the kitchen. Or rather, Sara was, standing and staring at the aquarium that now housed only various fish skeleltons scattered across the bottom of the tank, with a cold, angry expression set on her face. The back door was wide open, swinging slowly back and forth.

"The bastard cleaned out every scrap of edible material in the house, (2)" said Sara, without looking at Pestilence. "He even ate the goddamn _fish_. (3)"

"Don't swear, my dear. It helps nothing. Staying calm will."

"That bugger Rhakal took my _daughter_ and my husband's _best friend_. I am not going to even _consider_ staying calm until we get the back and we take the bastard down." Now she turned to face him; her hands were clenched.

At this moment Aziraphale hurried in through the open back door. There was a look in his eyes right now that neither of them had even seen. It was unnerving, especially on the angel's normally serene features.

"They took the alley," said Aziraphale. "I didn't go far, but I went far enough. There's...blood... all over near the back of that abandoned apartment building. These, too." Aziraphale pulled out a dark, iridescent feather from his breast pocket, and another streaked with red bars that constantly slid around. Demon feathers. "I think Rhakal tried to kill Crowley. We have to hurry. Where's Razael?"

"Going through all the rooms," said Pestilence with some disdain. "Looking for _clues_, I suppose."

"He can figure out where we went. Let's go."

The three worried adults left the house, crossed the still and unusually silent backyard, and set off down the alley.

-8-

They rose into the air, a whirring mass of sable feathers, blood red skin, and astonished five-year-old.

"Uncle Curly! We're flying!" cried Adele, half in fright, half in delight.

Crowley nodded curtly, saving his breath for the job of beating the wings he hadn't used since...since he couldn't remember when, actually. He had forgotten how hard it was. He gritted his teeth and flapped harder.

He heard a snapping whoosh rather like the sound a loose sail makes in a high wind. Crowley had a moment to wonder what it was before a clawed hand closed around his ankle, nearly making him fall out of the sky with its unexpectedness.

"You forgot, didn't you, that you're not the only demon who can fly," said a voice, a horribly familiar voice, from below him. Crowley couldn't believe it. It _couldn't_ be! Not him...not now...not after all those long years, and so far from....from that place where It had caused them to...quarrel so badly.

But it was.

"_Rhakal_!"

-8-

"Oh, my," said Pestilence softly, eyes riveted to the almost man-shaped splatter of blood that stained the cobblestones. The alley was a mess. Whatever eles had happened, Crowley had put up an enormous fight before the end. Whatever that end had been...

Aziraphale spied something lying off in a corner, and went to look. It was Crowley's sunglasses. They were twisted and broken and looked like even the demon could no longer fix them. Not a good sign.

"No bodies," said Pestilence, examining what was obviously the battlefield with some of his old professional attitude. "And chances are that Rhakal would have left Adele, right? What's an apparently human child to a demon, right? So, chances are, they got away. Or at least Adele probably did..." He trailed off, frowning and staring with fierce intensity at an open Dumpster. He could have sworn it had just groaned.

"So where could they have gone?" said Sara.

"I don't know," admitted Pestilence.

"What about Crowley?" said Aziraphale. "Do you think he's dead, or alive, or -?"

"_Wishing_ he was dead, actually," croaked a voice with a funny echo to it. They turned to look at the Dumpster which had apparently said that. "_Fuck_. Someone help me out of this blasted thing." A pale hand, disappearing into a black sleeve, appeared over the rim, revealing that it was not, after all, the Dumpster which had spoken.

"_Crowley_?!"

-8-

"Yes. It's me, you bastard. I'm glad you recognize me. Do you know why I am here?" hissed Rhakal.

"To kill me," guessed Crowley. He kicked hard and struggled, but the other demon's grip on his ankle remained firm, almost painful. For a heart-stopping moment, he almost lost his grip on Adele, who was wordless with fear.

"Kill you? Oh no. Of course not. What kind of demon do you take me for?"

Crowley risked letting himself feel relief. Maybe Rhakal had forgotten...?

"No, no, Crowley. I am here to give you something _worse_. Much, _much_ worse."

"Ah. Eternal torment, huh?" It figured. Demons had no imagination, really.

"You're not _quite_ as foolish as you look," chuckled Rhakal, hovering in midair, tightening his grip on Crowley's ankle. Before Crowley could come up with a snappy enough retort, Rhakal took advantage of a small falter in his wingbeats and heaved hard on his foot. Crowley lost control of the air, and fell. Rhakal let go. Adele whimpered and clung on tighter.

A few feet above the ground, Rhakal stopped his fall with a foot in his kidneys. In spite of the pain, Crowley forced his wings to catch at the air again. That had been too close.

"No defense, eh?" Rhakal gloated, swooping away again, taunting the aching Crowley as he began to rise again. "You're not even _trying_ to fight back. You did... _before_. But then, you had the great ones one your side, _didn't you_!"

"Just let me put the kid down, OK?" he gasped, trying to catch his breath.

"No! You had the advantage, back then. No longer..." he snarled. "No longer!"

His blow stunned Crowley, sending him spinning. He hit the old building behind him and slid downwards once more. Crowley scrabble furiously and managed to grasp at a window ledge with one arm. With the extra weight of Adele on it, it felt like his arm had nearly disconnected from the rest of him. "Ow! _Fuck_! Adele! Jump!"

"I can't!" she cried. "I'm scared!"

Rhakal slammed into them, driving the breath right out of Crowley in a high-pitched squeak.

"Leave Uncle Curly alone!" shrieked Adele. "You big, mean, stupid - stupid - stupid _bugger_!"

Crowley was too busy trying not to fall to notice that Aziraphale's daughter had just sworn.

He was not, however, too involved in this to notice that the child's pajamas were splitting along the shoulder seams.

White, feathery wings erupted from Adele's back. They flapped into Crowley's face, tickling his nose. He wrinkled his nose and tried not to sneeze.

Rhakal paused in mid-swoop, stared at the furious Adele. Then his face split in a wide, manic grin. "My, my, my," he said. "An angel, as well. This _is_ my lucky day, isn't it?"

"Adele!" rasped Crowley. "The window! Fly in! Hide!"

She let go of him, with a bit of prying, and rose, a little unsteadily, until she was level with the window. She swooped in and disappeared from sight.

Crowley felt air and feathers swoosh past his head as she did so. Rhakal was trying to follow the little girl through - and he had got stuck in a tangle of wings and awkward human limbs.

A grin flickered across Crowley's face. Adele was safe. _Now_ this would be a proper fight. He hadn't been a good fracas since...well, too long ago. He let go of the windowsill, beating his wings furiously, and kicked the other demon as hard as he could in the - well....in the best target presented to him. The idiot was practically _asking_ for it, after all.

Action equals reaction, even in the air. _Especially_ in the air. Crowley shot off in the other direction.

Rhakal screeched and struggled, finally managing to pull himself free in spite of intense agony in certain regions. He spied Crowley, making for the other end of the alley, and rocketed straight at him. He bowled the former serpent over in mid-air; Crowley hissed in anger.

Now it was almost impossible to distinguish the two combatants - an arm flailing free here, someone's foot connecting with the other's nose, wings and limbs a blurring, howling chaos. It was impossible to tell who, if either, had the upper hand.

Blood spattered the cobblestones below as the demons resorted to claws, and perhaps teeth as well.

Rhakal rebounded off the wall on the opposite side, straight at Crowley, who was waiting and ready to gouge at the other demon's face with his hands. Rhakal snarled and sunk glittering fangs into Crowley's arm. Feathers tore free and fluttered to the alley below, a dark fall of snow.

The frantically beating wings brought up a small wind. Again a watcher would not be able to tell who had the upper hand or not. A watcher could not even tell if they were bleeding equally badly.

A watcher should probably have started running for his or her life about then, as the demons were also beginning to use their supernatural powers, and both demons' aims were quite erratic. They blasted the cobbles into glassy black smoking rock as often as they hit the other.

And then they broke apart. One figure shot up triumphantly, the other fell, semi-conscous, and bleeding badly. The rising figure circled, watching dispassionately as his opponent hit the cobbles and lay still. It was over. He was dead, or as good as dead. He had won.

Rhakal smiled slightly, pleased with the results, but feeling almost cheated of proper revenge, then drifted down to the ground to wait for the girl to come out.

-8-

Adele hit the floor running, her five-year-old mind filling with terrified instincts she didn't know she had, even if she'd known what the word meant. The bad man was out there, trying to hurt her Uncle Crowley.

And she couldn't do a thing.

She had looked at him, that bad man, and there was something so big and so scary glittering in his eyes that it made her long for her Mummy or Daddy to hold her and tell her it was all right, it was only a bad dream. But with insight unusual in one so young, she knew it was not going to go away.

Uncle Crowley had told her to run and hide. She didn't like old creaky, spooky buildings, but she also did not want to have to face that man again. So she ran down the stairs, clattering down the rickety steps all the way to the first floor, and crawled in under and old dusty desk. Adele covered her ears with her hands. There were noises outside, big, scary noises - she could hear her Uncle Crowley hissing and swearing, or she thought she could, and it was frightening her so bad, the angry sounds they were making as the bad man tried to hurt her uncle, that she couldn't even make herself move. Her heart raced inside her chest like a rabbit trying to escape.

It seemed to go on for a long, long time, the screeching and the snarling and some other really weird and explosive-sounding noises she had never heard before. This was bad. This was so bad. She wasn't thinking at all, it seemed, just waiting, and waiting, and waiting.

And finally, it was quiet.

For long heartbeats, Adele continued to crouch under the desk, trembling like mad. She had to go out and see if Uncle Crowley was OK. Yet she couldn't leave the desk - when she tried to stand her knees gave way like jelly - she was too scared. But she had to go. It was like getting out of bed in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, and you really, really had to go except that you knew you couldn't because there were horrible monsters under the bed, and if you got out of bed they would catch you and eat you all up -

But Adele had already met a monster. He looked a bit like a skinnier and taller version of Uncle Crowley.

Slowly, Adele crawled out from underneath the desk and towards the door. She peeked out.

What she saw made her forget her previous fear, and replace it with a new one. There was something wrong with Uncle Crowley. And the bad man was off to one side, lurking in the shadows, except Adele could see him because his eyes glowed a funny red colour, waiting ever-so-patiently for something to happen.

He reminded her of the horrible cat next door, who bullied Dobermans and cornered small children. She sensed that, like that cat, this man hated everything and everybody he had ever met. He was awful.

Uncle Crowley stirred slightly, tried to sit up. The bad man just looked at him, and her uncle's whole body jerked as though shocked. He twitched and thrashed on the ground.

_That's wrong_, Adele thought, trembling. _That's wrong, and bad, and mean. So mean!_

She couldn't take it any more. She ran out to where Uncle Crowley lay sprawled on the cobblestones. What was all the red stuff? Was it - was it..._blood_? Uncle Crowley was hurt. He was hurt real bad. She threw herself down on her knees beside him, scared to touch him lest he start bleeding even more. "Uncle Curly!" Adele could feel tears coming. She didn't want to cry - she was a big girl, after all - but she couldn't stop herself. "Don't die, please, don't die!" Uncle Crowley did not reply.

A hand on her shoulder nearly made her shriek. It was the bad man, so she tried to bite him. He hit her, then while she was feeling stunned and dizzy with the hurt, he picked her up.

"Revenge," he breathed. "At last. Revenge is so _sweet,_ don't you think so, Crowley?"

Crowley's right hand clenched slowly. "You - bastard..." he choked, his voice a bare whisper.

"And look. Now I have your charge - the little angel girl. Shall I hurt her instead, I wonder?..."

Adele knew it was very, very rude, but this was the bad man, and he had hit her. Besides, she had already tried to bite him. She stuck out her tongue at him, then spat. "You hurt me," she said loudly, her voice shrill with riotous, scary emotions. She could feel her shoulders starting to itch again, like before - would the wings come back? She hoped they would. "You hurt Uncle Curly."

Rhakal smiled serenely at her. "And I shall hurt you both some more." He kicked Crowley's hand aside as it tried to grasp at his boot, and swung Adele under his arm. He started to stride away.

Adele saw red. This man had to be the worst man in the whole entire world. He didn't care. He didn't even care when he hurt people. And now he was taking her away. "_I hate you_!" she shrieked. "You're mean an' you're ugly an' you hurt Uncle Curly an' me an' you wrecked the door an' you're just a big old bully! An' I _hate_ you an' you should - you should go to _- _to_ Manchester! _Or _Hell_!" She was nearly sobbing by the time she yelled out that last part. It was the worst thing and the worst places she could think of. She picked up a lot of that kind of stuff in her family.

And the wind, which had been picking up for some time now, picked up even more and sent a virtual hurricane of wind howling down the narrow passage, sending up dust, and grit, and trash. A can bounced off the bad man's head, then a loose hubcap which had taken flight like a Frisbee. He howled as grit also lashed into his eyes, and he scrubbed at them with both hands, letting Adele tumble to the street. Her knee was skinned through her pajama pants. She curled up next to her Uncle Crowley, scared of the ferocity of the sudden storm and shivering because he felt so cold. He was really hurt. He wasn't breathing too good. Adele buried her face against his side and whispered, "Don't die, Uncle Curly, don't die, don't die, don't die..."

"Angel," she heard him whisper back.

Then two horrible clutching hands yanked her away from him. She tried to bite the bad man again, but he clamped a hand over her mouth and hoisted her over his shoulder. "You know what, kid? You got the right idea. Thanks."

"_No_!" Adele wasn't sure who said, but it was too late for it to matter much anyways. A flick of a finger made Crowley disappear from his spot on the ground and reappear again perhaps two feet above an open Dumpster. Adele didn't see what happened next, because the next thing she knew that even began to make sense, the air was hot and dry and blasting her with wind, and even the smallest glimpse of the alley had completely disappeared.

Rhakal had opened a hole in the air, and stepped through the Mouth of Hell with Adele over his shoulder.

-8-

(1) Generally with something like tuberculosis or polio. He wasn't much good at keeping friends, alive.

(2) This, however, did not include the fruitcake that had been given to them, two Christmases ago, by Sara's father. It was still good. Or rather, as good as a fruitcake can actually taste, which it doesn't.

(3) Which was surprising, because whenever Crowley was anywhere nearby they tended to turn into piranhas.


	5. Present: In Which ALMOST Everyone Goes T...

****

Hell And Back

Overall Description - You know your family's _different_ when Daddy helped bugger up the Apocalypse, your Grampy is called Pest - Pestil - a big long word that means you don't feel good, and your Uncle likes to play Vice City in an actual city... But who cares? They all love you anyways. In fact, they'd go to Hell and Back for you....

A/N -In answer to the comment about it seeming like a rather unworkable idea for Aziraphale to have a wife (since I bet a lot of you were wondering that)...errr...I have a confession to make. I know it's a little childish, but I adore stuff like _Asterix_ and _Tintin_, and, more recently, the _Books Of Magic_, created by Neil Gaiman. Anyways, I got the idea from one of those volumes. In this thing, the angel Araquel ended up Falling for having a child with a woman named Khara whom I _think_ is human (although I'm not completely sure that she is...). So that's the scoop. If you've read it, you know where I'm coming from. Also, maybe you noticed that in that one scene in Soho, there was a building called Pratchett Theatre that was playing _Unseen Demons_ or something like that. I kept looking for Aziraphale, or his bookshop. 9.9 If you haven't read them, you should. They're actually quite good. Ok, I'll shut up now. Let's go to the story!

Disclaimer - Not mine, but man do I wish it was! (huggles her Crowley plushie) My precioussssss....

(Oh yeah! Forgot to mention! NO SLASH! So depending on whether or not that's your thing, make up your mind whether you're going to read this or not! Still here? OK! Here we go!)

-8-

The alley was quite dark now. It was getting very hard to see anything, even the apartment buildings around them. The faint glow of the streetlights from the other side of the houses was all that lit the area. It was still enough to see, though, the angel's face grow grim and angry when Crowley told his friends what had happened.

"She's _gone_?" Aziraphale's face was white with fury. "You _let_ him take her."

Crowley said nothing, only winced as Sara used her handkerchief to gently clean a long, shallow wound that Rhakal had scored down his back through his jacket.

"She was in your care, and you let us down."

Crowley still said nothing, but the closed, miserable expression on his face grew even more closed and miserable.

"She's only _five_, Crowley! She trusted you! _I_ trusted you!"

"I told her to go hide," he muttered, resting his head on one hand. He couldn't look at his friend. "She did. Then when I started bleeding all over the pavement, Adele ran out to me. All right? I couldn't stop her, for Go - Sa - _somebody's_ sake! I was a little preoccupied with almost dying, Aziraphale!"

"Your wounds aren't too bad, now," Sara interjected, getting to her feet to throw the bloody handkerchief into the Dumpster. "Did you try to heal yourself up a bit, Anthony?"

"Me? No. I didn't have enough willpower left to heal a papercut. It was Adele. She went mad. She - I dunno, she brought up a wind, I guess, and Rhakal got hit with a bunch of flying trash. I think a hubcap was in there somewhere. And she kept saying that I mustn't die. The really odd thing is, I didn't, either. _She_ healed me. I swear."

"Not in time for you to have got Rhakal, though, I suppose."

"Aziraphale, stop that," said Sara sharply. "I know you're upset about Adele, but please, think about what you're saying. Listen to you! The two of you are quarrelling like children. I thought you were friends. You're both grown men, right? Then act like it!" She turned away and called to Pestilence. "Have you found any trace of it yet, Pestilence?"

"Oh. Yeah. The gateway. I have - but Sara, there's something you ought to know -"

"Where did it go to? Can you tell?"

"Well, yes... Listen, don't go mad on me, all right?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean...it leads to Hell. Rhakal opened the Mouth of Hell here, Sara."

"_Bugger_," said Crowley. "She didn't ought to have told him to go there."

Sara stared at him suspiciously. "You've been teaching Adele how to swear, haven't you?"

"Oh. Well. Ummmmm....." said Crowley uncomfortably. Facing demonic wrath was one thing. Facing angelic and human wrath at the same time was quite a different story altogether.

"_There_ you all are!" came a cheerful, if somewhat anxious, voice from the other end of the alley. A pale blue glow advanced upon them, lighting the alley from near darkness to a merely faint gloom.

"Oh _no_," groaned Aziraphale under his breath.

"I've been looking all _over_ for you, and you weren't anywhere in the house or in the streets, so finally I decided, maybe I ought to check out back, and now - oh _my_."

Razael's constant smile faltered at the sight of Aziraphale, Sara, and Pestilence looking so grave and angry, and a bloody man in torn black with snake eyes and little ponytails sprouting everywhich way out of his head. "Oh, dear. Whatever happened here? No, don't tell me, I think I can hazard a guess. Oh, goodness, it seems Rhakal did find you first. I say, are you all right? Oh _dear_... is that _blood_?"

"Who _is_ this berk?" muttered Crowley to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale sighed. "Razael, this is Crowley. Crowley, Razael. He says he was sent from on High to stop Rhakal."

Razael's face bore only the faintest trace of a smirk as he looked at Crowley and remarked, "Nice hair."

"A little late, aren't you?" Crowley said sullenly. "He's been and gone, and _taken_ his bloody revenge."

"He took the child - the little girl - whose bedroom I saw, didn't he?"

Adele's parents tried to stifle their sharply indrawn breaths. Apparently they had underestimated Razael's intelligence, to some small degree.

Crowley eyed the angel warily. "Yeah. He took her. She's gone. She is _five_ years old. Even if she _is_ immortal stock, she can't look out for her -" He suddenly realized that he had said far too much.

Aziraphale and Sara's looks were pure poison.

"Immortal..." Razael said slowly. "Well, that would explain _this_, I suppose." He pulled a single, shimmering ivory white feather from his pocket. He studied it. "I thought it was angelic, but I was _sure_ I must be wrong. And now it turns out that I wasn't wrong at all. Well, Master Crowley, would you care to explain where this came from?"

"Are you _sure_ it's angelic?" Crowley said, a note of panicked hope in his voice.

"I'm quite sure, thanks. I am, as it were, a bit of an expert on such matters, if I may say so myself. I'm quite positive that this belongs to a young angel."

"_Ah_. So it would _seem_," said Crowley mysteriously.

"What nonsense are you speaking now, demon? I'll have you know that Gabriel _himself_ considers me an authority -"

"Of _course_ he does," Crowley said soothingly. "So I can understand why you're so confused about this and why you have _every right_ to be angry that you weren't told about this...little experiment."

"Crowley!" hissed Aziraphale in agony.

"_What_ little experiment was I not told about, _if_ you don't mind me asking, Master Crowley?" said Razael, a little sharply.

"Ah, well, that. Well, you see... 's worth more than my position's worth if I told you that. You know how it is. Top-secret. Very hush-hush. Awkward to explain. A project from Himself. Regrets - not allowed to explain," babbled Crowley, his mind working furiously as he hoped he wouldn't screw this up. "Yeah. No unauthorized persons allowed beyond this point. That kind of thing. You see?"

"No, I'm afraid I don't. What is all this about this being..._His_ project?"

Crowley looked miserable. "Oh, yeah. Sure is. Ineffable plan and all that. I don't pretend to understand it myself, you see, but, well, you see....thing is...thing is...thing is, He's been playing God again."

"He _is_ God."

"I mean...I mean....I mean, like Creation." He paused significantly. "_All_ of it."

It took awhile for Razael to catch on. "Are you saying that you were told that this child is some...new type of immortal species?" He sounded as if he could hardly believe what he was saying.

"You could say that," Crowley said, evading the truth by only a little bit. "But you never heard any of this, all right?"

"Oh....yes, of course...not a word...right. I never heard a thing." Razael looked absolutely astounded.

"You see, Razael, why this girl is so important to everyone here," added Pestilence, catching on. "It would be in everyone's best interests if we could get her back, safely, as soon as possible." Impressively enough, he barely had to lie there. "So - will you help us?"

"Well...yes, of course...it is my duty - no, that's not right - I would be _proud_ to assist you in such a noble pursuit," said Razael, a little pompously.

The friends exchanged glances. If only he knew....

"Brilliant. Let's go." Crowley scrambled to his feet and started off back towards the house.

"Anthony, where are you going?" said Sara.

"Well, the Mouth of Hell's moved by this point, hasn't it. It'll be somewhere in France by the time we find it again. Come on, I can drive us in the Bentley."

"You're quite sure it will be in France?" asked Pestilence, following the demon's lead.

"Oh, yeah. Definitely." Crowley paused to think as they reached Aziraphale and Sara's backyard. "Unless it stops in Chile, I guess. But no worries. We'll find it."

"_Chile_?!"

"Or maybe Antarctica," Crowley amended meekly. "Somewhere around there. Unless I'm completely wrong and it will end up in Russia."

"_Russia_?!"

"Well, I'm pretty _sure_ it oughtn't stop in Madagascar...."

"Crowley," said Aziraphale firmly, "just shut up and let's get in the Bentley before you make it seem any worse."

"Right." Crowley reached for his sunglasses, patted all his pockets in an increasingly frantic manner, and discovered that they were gone. "_Bugger_."

"What is it _now_?"

"My sunglasses. Give me a moment -" He dashed off back towards the site of the fight.

"_Crowley_!" Aziraphale nearly screamed in frustration.

And suddenly the darkness and chill of the night was ripped apart. A blast of heat, awful even at this distance, hit them as a horrible, glowing red gateway opened before the now-distant Crowley, perhaps two feet to the right of where it had opened previously. The demon couldn't stop in time. He disappeared downwards.

"Crowley!" Razael, Aziraphale, Sara and Pestilence ran back towards the Mouth of Hell, hoping it wouldn't close up on them before they got there. Sara began coughing horribly as the smell of brimstone swept over them and came close to choking her with its fetidity.

"It's all right!" The demon's voice echoed up as he struggled to pull his upper body back up over the edge. He grinned madly at them. "I think I found it!"

"Brilliant," said Pestilence under his breath. "We're being lead by Captain Obviousness."

"Let's just go," said Aziraphale wearily. He stepped cautiously through, and dropped onto a boulder that preceded the long, frozen road to Hell. Razael dropped through as well, staring in horrified awe as he got his first glimpse of the Underworld.

Aziraphale reached up to help Sara down. She put her hand in his, still choking with the stench, and was about to swing herself down over the edge when Pestilence grabbed onto her and hauled her back up.

"What are you doing?!" she yelled.

"Don't you remember?" Pestilence said to her, meaningfully. "_We Horsepersons_ aren't allowed Below. _Strictly Earth-bound_. Aren't we, Aziraphale? Isn't that right?"

Aziraphale hesitated, then looked at his wife, struggling to breathe in the Hellish air. "Yes. That's right."

"Wait a moment. I don't remember hearing about that before," said Razael with some suspicion.

"It's not very well known," Crowley told him. "Now hush up."

Sara looked pleadingly at him. He shook his head. "I'm sorry, I had forgotten about that, my dear." To both of them, he added, "You'll have to stay behind, Pestilence...War."

Her mouth tightened. Even through the billows of smoke and heat, they could see her eyes shimmering. "All right, then. You better bring Adele back safely, though. Good luck be with you. And - and be _careful_, all right?"

"We will, my dear lady," promised Aziraphale. He could not say or do anything more while Razael watched them. "Take care, the both of you. We'll see you soon."

Sara and Pestilence watched in mute, unhappy silence as the two angels and one demon walked away down the road to Hell.

The opening disappeared. Sara shivered in the sudden chill of London's natural air - but she could breathe properly now, and she inhaled deeply.

"Well," said Pestilence. "That's that, I guess. All we can do now is go home. And wait."

Sara nodded reluctantly, and they trudged off, back to the empty, silent house, and perhaps a gallon or two of coffee.

The smell of brimstone lingered in the air of the alley until midnight.

-8-


	6. Present: In Which There is A Thing With ...

****

Hell And Back

Overall Description - You know your family's _different_ when Daddy helped bugger up the Apocalypse, your Grampy is called Pest - Pestil - a big long word that means you don't feel good, and your Uncle likes to play Vice City in an actual city... But who cares? They all love you anyways. In fact, they'd go to Hell and Back for you...

A/N - Please feel free to tell me if this chapter's way too far out. I feel bad for Crowley. Again. This chapter practically wrote itself. I take no responsibility for it!

Oh! I almost forgot! A BIG thank you and some devil's food cake go out to all you very, very nice reviewers. I hope I can continue to write up to your expectations!

Disclaimer - Hmmmm...(shifty eyes) No one around to get me for this? (big cheesy smile) YAY! (dances around, singing and huggling her favourite GO plushie) My Crowley! My Crowley!

(Oh yeah! Forgot to mention! NO SLASH! So depending on whether or not that's your thing, make up your mind whether you're going to read this or not! Still here? OK! Here we go!)

-8-

How does one describe Hell?

One usually doesn't, of course. Everyone has their own private version of Hell. J.S. Bach's version of Hell, for instance, is filled with amateur accordion players. A drunkard might possibly spend eternity drowning in an ocean of alcohol which he cannot drink. Genghis Khan probably has to spend eternity trying to rouse an army to dole out death and destruction that consists solely of vegetarian pacifists.(1) Vlad the Impaler's personal Hell is dominated by small, fluffy, adorable pink bunnies with high voices and big eyes who continually preach peace, love, goodwill to all men (2), and how to Play Nice. And the only weapon he can get his hands on is one of those Wiffle bats. One almost pities him.

Almost.

There is also the generic version of Hell, with flames shooting from every available surface and sometimes even from those that are not, lakes of burning magma and boiling water, instruments of torture, and other such boring, mundane furnishings.

It's not _nearly_ as interesting as some people's personal Hells, but when you're just passing through on business, you take what you can get. Which in Crowley, Aziraphale, and Razael's case, meant the boring, mundane, generic version of Hell.

"This is horrible," said Razael in a hushed voice as they walked in silence down the road paved with frozen door-to-door salesmen.

"I _like_ this road," Crowley said mildly. "I used to skate down it all the time on weekends, when I lived here, when I was really young."

"Not the road, demon. I meant - Hell. I never knew it was - well - so _bad_."

"That's why they call it _Hell_, angel."

"Are the damned really forced to live here?"

"Nuh. Not _here_. In the main part, yeah, with all the flames and stuff, if they want to leave their personal Hells. 'S a hot business down here, personal Hells."

"How awful."

"I know. It's really not that exciting of a place to look at after awhile. I mean, there's plenty of things more imaginative than lakes of lava. But I suppose it's expected, eh? Got to keep up the image."

"We won't have to stay long, I hope," said Aziraphale.

Crowley shrugged. "Shouldn't be a problem." He spied a nice, long, smooth patch of ice and took a run at it. He slid for some fifteen feet before he lost his footing and fell heavily on his tailbone. "Gee, I'd nearly forgotten about all this, you know."

"Be serious," Aziraphale rebuked him. "We're going to the one place none of us ever wanted to see to take Adele back from the very angry demon who snatched her, and you are sliding on the ice like an obstreperous schoolboy. You ought to sober up. You also ought to get those ponytails out of your hair before anyone sees us and realizes we're trespassers."

Crowley rolled his eyes, but when he got back to his feet, he did set to work taking all the elastics out of his hair. He knew Aziraphale was tense and worried about his missing daughter, but still, the angel would be better off if he lightened up a bit too. He finished, but left the one ponytail at the base of his neck in, ignoring Aziraphale's questioning look.

"Right. Sober as a funeral, now," he said.

"I wish you hadn't said that," said Razael unhappily. "Not when we're walking over all these horrible old corpses."

"Who said they were _corpses_?" said Crowley with some amusement.

Razael looked ill.

And then they were there.

-8-

"Now, that's what I'd call ungrateful," said Crowley, one arm hooked through the bars while the other cautiously explored the lump on his head. "We tried to help them out by doing it the easy way, but no, they had to go alert all Hell -"

"Please, shut up," said Razael from the cell he had been thrown into with Aziraphale, directly across the way. "It's _your_ fault we're in here, demon. It was neither myself nor Aziraphale whom the warden recognized. Tell me, whatever did you do that would make your own kind greet you in such a manner?"

"Don't mock hospitality. That was almost friendly, for Hell."

"I want to know why they hurried us away to a 'safe place' as soon as they could, rather than risk Rhakal finding out we were here. You ought to tell us, demon."

"I got on his bad side. And he's powerful down here right now, so they don't want to do anything that might piss him off because it will be them he comes after next."

"Thanks, but I had that much figured out. I'm not a _total_ berk, you know. (3) What I wanted to know was what you did to earn such a grudge."

Crowley unhooked his arm from the bars and flopped down on his back on the floor. "I don't want to talk about it."

"You ought to, anyways. We have a right to know what you've gotten us into."

"What _I've_ got you into?" There was no real anger behind the question. Razael wasn't purposely trying to piss him off. "I told you, I don't want to talk about. All right? It was...it was a long time ago. Practically ancient history, now."

"All the same, I'd like to know."

Crowley turned his back to them. "_You_ tell him, Aziraphale."

"It _is_ your story, Crowley," his friend said sheepishly. "You really ought to just tell it."

Crowley sat up, glared at both angels. Neither responded in kind.

"Go on," encouraged Razael. He sounded almost...sympathetic.

"Berk," muttered Crowley, but without any real feeling. In the face of such silent, interested, and kind expressions, he gave in, after several long minutes had passed and they were still watching him. "All right," he said finally, wretchedly. "All right. It's nothing _earth-shattering_, though. Nothing special. I don't suppose you'll be able to understand why it turned into such a big deal, Razael." He took a deep breath. "All right. This happened... back when I used to live in Florence, if you want to know. I liked Italy. Great food, great art, you know. Lovely country."

Silence.

He plunged on. "There was...there was just this woman, all right? Her name was Giovanna. Italian. Great girl. And we were just friends, so don't go on looking at me like that. _Don't_! OK? All right, all right, if you must know, I did sort of care for her, I guess. But that wasn't important, right, because we were just friends and we were young and Florence was the place to be. Stop looking at me like that. OK, so I loved her. But I never tried anything with her because she didn't care that way about me.

"Yeah, I know, it sounds like a bloody romance novel, but don't laugh, because it was real and it hurt." Crowley looked deeply embarrassed. "I may be a demon, but love hit me like it hits every other poor fool - and I couldn't've dishonoured her, because then I would have lost her.

"Rhakal tried, though," he added shortly as the angels continued to watch him. "_Bastard._

"He used to be allowed to wander around Earth. I didn't like him then. I liked him even less when Giovanna...Giovanna... never you mind. All I'll say is that suddenly it was an awful lot like that one play by that Shakespeare bloke, only of course he hadn't exactly been born yet, right, you know, the one with the love - love - whatever it is. Thing that has three points," he ended lamely.

"Anyways. Anyways, Rhakal wanted to get rid of me, and a couple other fellows who were chasing after Giovanna, and he tried, but Giovanna still wanted to be my friend, so he couldn't exactly knock me off or something without losing face with her. Pretty cliched-sounding so far, isn't it? And then, of course, being the lousy bastard that he is, he went and hurt her anyways, another way.

"So I kicked his sorry arse. And Rhakal wasn't too chuffed about that so he decided to complain to a Higher authority, claiming that I was breaking some major non-involvement rules, which apparently _I_ wasn't, but _he_ was, so I got off scot-free, Rhakal got demoted again for his role in the whole lousy business, and now he hates my guts because he figures it's all my fault Giovanna died. Which is also why he's out to get Aziraphale, because he helped out with the ruling and was the one who suggested he get demoted in the first place."

"Wait. Wait a minute," said Razael. "She _died_? When did _that_ happen?"

Crowley's smile was sour. "I told you he hurt her, didn't I? Quite badly. She was so distraught by what he did that she O.D'ed on a glass of wine spiked with poppy extract. Nice end, huh?" His face suddenly twisted. "Look, I _really_ don't want to talk about it any more, all right?" He got up, stretched, then sat down in one of the back corners, nearly facing the wall.

"Thank you for telling us," said Razael quietly.

"Just shut up and let me get some sleep, won't you? This place is awful enough without you yammering on all hours of the night."

The cells really _were_ horrible (4), and that was definitely wearing on everybody's nerves. Razael decided to ignore Crowley's bad manners, and try out the demon's idea for himself. Soon he was snoring, leaving only Aziraphale awake to sit and fret.

It hadn't been an easy time for any of them, as Aziraphale could easily admit, although all the demons they had met so far had actually been about as polite as could be expected, and very, very worried - rather like men in a general store that had suddenly been threatened by a very angry man, toting, against all reason, a chainsaw. Which, in fact, except for the small unimportant details that this was _not_ a general store, and Rhakal _definitely_ did not have a chainsaw, thank God, was what the situation actually was. Knowing this did not make Aziraphale feel any better, however.

It had started out well, with them pretending to be actual demons (5) and strolling in past the warden at the entrance of Hell, which had worked quite well up to the point when they had realized that the warden wasn't quite as stupid as they'd given him credit for. Halfway in, he'd stopped them.

"Here, you three! Stop right now and let me get a look at ye!"

As two-thirds of them were angels, they had not broken into a run and tried to escape, as any self-respecting demon would have done. They'd actually _stopped_.

"I don't _think_ so. Demons? You? Who are you trying to fool?"

No one was suicidal enough to point out the blatantly obvious.

"I mean, all right, you in the sunglasses had me fooled until I saw the ponytail. The elastic is _pink_, did you know that?"

Crowley had groaned inwardly.

"And no one down here _strolls_ anywhere. Saunters, yes. But _strolling_ - and you, sir!"

Razael had looked alarmed.

"You were _nancing_. I mean, honestly. And _you_!"

Aziraphale had looked sheepish. (6)

"Pooftiest poofter _I've_ ever seen. Angels, the lot of you, I'd bet. If you're going to try and sneak into Hell, you ought to at least do a good job of it."

"If you give us ten minutes to get ready we'll go back and try again," Crowley had said desperately.

The warden had stared at him, first in amazement, then in slowly growing suspicion. "Say...aren't you that Crowley chap?"

"Who?" asked Crowley innocently.

"You know, used to be a snake, buggered up the Apocalypse, always wears sunglasses...looks an awful lot like you do..."

"Nope. Never seen him."

"Never looked in a mirror, then, have you?"

"Errr...no?" he suggested hopefully.

"Right."

By this point it was too late to escape. The three men had been surrounded by various other demons in their most horrific forms, and they had been marched off away from the main hustle and bustle of Hell down a side passage, through a winding, narrow labyrinth, and finally forced into the aforesaid cells.

"What? When did _Hell_ get a lock-up?" Crowley had said bemusedly.

"You ought to check in once every hundred years or so. Where have you _been_?" said one demon with some derision.

"Not in the joint," the former snake had said firmly.

Now, however, they were _all _in the joint, of sorts, and almost everyone was trying to sleep.

It was quiet, except for Razael's snores and the sound of Crowley constantly tossing and turning in the cell nearby.

Aziraphale could not sleep. Worry gnawed at him and kept him awake. Little Adele - where was she now? Only a short distance away, or still very far? Was she all right? Was she even alive? Was she scared? It was beyond Aziraphale's ken how anyone, anywhere, could stand to hurt a child, something completely innocent and trusting. Rhakal bewildered him, having not the smallest iota of compassion anywhere in him. He also terrified him. His child was in that demon's grasp.

He hoped Sara was all right. He hoped she wasn't worrying nearly as much as him, and that her slightly more human mind was not able to imagine some of the things that his currently was. She usually didn't let stress control her, but then, she usually didn't have to deal with having her daughter kidnapped by a demon.

Crowley suddenly sat bolt upright in the cell across the way. "A triangle!"

"Go back to sleep, Crowley," Aziraphale said wearily, used to these lapses and sudden rembrances that his friend was prone to. It had taken longer this time, but perhaps, with all the stress, that was to be expected. The demon sank back down and started tossing and turning again.

Aziraphale tried to remember where his thoughts had left off.

It didn't help that Aziraphale was starting to have some serious doubts about their ability to get Adele back and return alive.

_Look at us_, thought Aziraphale miserably. _We're in right good shape, are we - NOT. Hell's most approachable demon is wanted dead or alive by Hell's most_ un_approachable_ _demon. Razael is, quite frankly, an idiot. All I want is my daughter back, and unfortunately I don't have the vaguest idea as to how to go about doing that from where I am now. God knows where Adele is now_ (8) _or what's been happening to her, but if she's been hurt, I - I feel that I shall quite lose control of myself. _

Razael will have to wait in line_ to take the bastard down. (9)_

-8-

(1) If you have to ask what vegetarian pacifists are doing in Hell, you really ought to be reading something else.

(2) Women too, of course.

(3) But it _was_ a very close call.

(4) Although that was to be expected, considering where they were.

(5) Not a problem for one-third of the group, at any rate.

(6) Which we again (7) take pains to point out did not actually mean that he sprouted wool and made 'baa'-ing noises. Although, of course, it would have been highly entertaining if he had.

(7) See 'The Judgment', footnote 6.

(8) Actually, this was true. God did know where Adele was. He just wasn't doing anything about it. Or at least, he wasn't doing anything that was not too ineffable to notice.

(9) This was the only the third time that Aziraphale had sworn in six thousand years.


	7. Present: In Which Much Coffee Is Consume...

****

Hell And Back

Overall Description - You know your family's _different_ when Daddy helped bugger up the Apocalypse, your Grampy is called Pest - Pestil - a big long word that means you don't feel good, and your Uncle likes to play Vice City in an actual city... But who cares? They all love you anyways. In fact, they'd go to Hell and Back for you...

A/N - I'm sorry I haven't done much Adele stuff for the last chapter or two. I'm having trouble seeing things from a five-year-old's point of view. I told my friends that, though, and they just laughed. So I'm just going to ignore them and try anyways. Hope it's all right...

Disclaimer - I just realized that I actually _do_ own stuff. I own Adele, Sara, Rhakal, Razael, Giovanna, and Duke Vakurys and Louis the janitor-guy that have an intro in this chappie. Yay me!

(Oh yeah! Forgot to mention! NO SLASH! So depending on whether or not that's your thing, make up your mind whether you're going to read this or not! Still here? OK! Here we go!)

-8-

While Aziraphale was sitting in his cell wondering what in Hell was going on, the rest of Hell was actually doing the going on.

And what was going on in one specific part of Hell was this:

Rhakal was a demon of many and varied talents. He could tempt a soul into mortal sin faster than almost anyone else he knew. He was clever. He was ambitious. He knew more things about how Hell worked than most demons.

He was also complete rubbish as a babysitter.

"I'm _bored_" said Adele loudly.

Anyone with an ounce of common sense and experience with young children knows that nothing good can follow this dread phrase. To Rhakal's misfortune, he didn't possess much of either.

"Too damn _bad_" growled Rhakal, downing his mug of coffee in one gulp (1).

"An' I can't move, eider." She struggled against the shackles to prove her point. "See? It's no fun. I thought we were playing cops an' robbers"

"Yeah? Well, you're serving life sentence."

"Why?"

"Just because. I said so."

"I wanna play somethin' else. This is no fun."

"That's the _point_."

"Why are you so _mean_?" Adele's lower lip trembled.

"I'm a demon. I'm _supposed_ to be mean. Now shut up so I can get my work done." Paperwork was a necessary component of life as a high-ranking demon. You did the job, then you had to write sixteen reports and fill out a bazillion forms to prove you'd done it. (2)

"Uncle Curly isn't mean."

"Yeah, you're right, he isn't mean at all. He's just a snivelling coward."

"He is not!"

"You don't even know what that means, brat," grunted Rhakal absently, scratching out a mistake.

"Do too. Snive - Sniv - that word means you whine lots, an' - an' a coward is _scared_. Of _everythin'._ Daddy said. Daddy's smart. Daddy teached me big words. He's gonna get mad when he finds out you took me to the Bad Place. To _Hell_. He's an - an _angle_. You'll get _smited_. An' Uncle Curly's a _demon_, an' _he'll_ be real mad too."

"Well, whoop-de-doo for you," muttered Rhakal distractedly.

It took several minutes for what she'd said to actually sink in, and when it did, Rhakal looked up suddenly and fixed the kid with a stare. "Wait a minute. Your _father_'s the angel?"

"Yeah. He's got feathers an' everythin'. He'll be _real_ mad at you."

Rhakal's mind raced, but for the life of him he could not come up with the name of the Earth-bound angel who had condemned him to Below. But it had to be him. It _had_ to be.

Who _else_ could it possibly be?

"What's your father's name, brat?"

"Why?" Adele looked confused.

"Because I want to know. Spill it, kid."

"Why?"

"Because I said so!"

"Why?"

"_JUST_ TELL _ME ALREADY, ANGEL SCUM!_"

Several minutes later, Rhakal was wishing he'd never taken the girl captive. The kid wouldn't stop _crying_. He'd even changed back to his human form. Not one maggot had escaped.

"Ok, kid. Give it a _rest_, already."

"No. You yelled and called names. You're mean to me. You should apologogogo - ap'lo - say you're sorry," she sniffled.

"Demons do _not_ apologize. We have our reputations to uphold, you know. And don't say one single word about your precious uncle or daddy or I'll lose my patience" snapped Rhakal. "Just tell me who your goddamn father is"

"He's...he's... my daddy."

"Yeah, all right. I _knew_ that! What is his _name!_"

Adele flinched, then looked up at him with shimmering, stricken blue eyes. "He's - just - Daddy" she hiccupped. "Just - Daddy. That's all. I don't know! It's real, real hard to prono - prononowence - _say,_" she clarified when Rhakal glared at her.

Rhakal forced himself to calm down. He was Hell's worst nightmare. Satan himself did not dare interfere with him. He was powerful. There was absolutely no point in losing his temper over some silly angelic child. "Just try. It won't kill you, will it?" he said through clenched teeth.

If she could have folded her arms, she would have. "No."

"Tell me."

"No. Not 'til you say sorry for yellin' at me." Adele's chin lifted defiantly.

So much for patience. "When Hell freezes over, kid," he snapped in reply.

-8-

One of the new janitors, (3) a man named Louis, paused with his broom in sweeping up the streets of Dis to wipe the sweat from his brows. This wasn't fair. Demons didn't know the first thing about cleaning, obviously, because what was needed here was a good scouring mop, and a bleach - not a straw broom. He beat out the small fire that had started on one of the bristles and slunk off into the shadows, hoping to find some refuge.

It was unbearably hot here. If the damned weren't already dead the heat would have killed them all in minutes. How could an honest man - all right, or a dishonest man, in this case - be expected to work in these conditions? It was ridiculous.

It didn't help, of course, that Louis was used to a much more temperate climate. At home, there was sometimes snow. At home, the temperature in summer averaged out in the low thirties, in centigrade. And he'd never _worked_ summers.

As he walked down the alley, he thought he saw something small and white set upon the wall. Curious, Louis went over to check it out. With some incredulism, he realized that it was a thermostat.

A smile slowly spread across Louis' face as he looked at the box, and his eyes drifted over to the lowest possible temperature. Louis set his broom down so that it leaned against the wall, and carefully adjusted the thermostat so that it read about ninety degrees cooler. There. _Much_ better.

A man could actually _work_ at that temperature. The damned would be damned thankful for the respite.

Louis picked up his broom and walked off, whistling cheerfully.

For the first time since their seemingly redundant creation, the air conditioners of Hell began to run.

-8-

_Ding dong._

Sara's hand twitched nervously, and she barely avoided spilling her twelfth cup of strong-brewed coffee all over herself. She lifted herself out of her chair to look at the kitchen clock, nervously wringing her hands. "It's barely six. Who could possibly be here?"

"Don't know." Pestilence drained his cup, and reached for the pot to pour himself another. He stirred in three heaping spoonfuls of sugar. He was twitching nearly as badly as Sara was from all the caffeine. "Why don't you go check?"

Sara jogged down the hallway as the doorbell rang again. She was very jittery, and not only from the coffee. (4) She and Pestilence had been awake all night, tense, and waiting for...waiting for...well, neither knew exactly what they were waiting for, to be honest. They just knew it hadn't come yet.

Perhaps this was it.

_Ding dong._

Sara unlocked the door and flung it open. (5)

Or perhaps it wasn't.

"Yeah? Who're you?"

"Pardon me, but is Mr. A. Ziraphale at home right now?"

"No," she said shortly and succintly. Lack of sleep, and an overdose of worrying and caffeine combined to make her snappish.

"Where is he?"

"Go to Hell," she muttered, and went to shut the poor door.

"Madam!"

"Sara, it's all right. He's an angel." Pestilence had come up beside her, sipping at his sugar-spiked coffee and watching the new arrival warily.

"_Another_ of them?" Sara pursed her lips, remembering Razael. "_Brilliant_. He can still go to Hell."

"Madam!"

"Sara, please... Look, she's not insulting you," Pestilence hastened to explain. "She's telling you where Aziraphale went."

"Oh," said the new angel in tones of strained politeness.

"Yes. Would I lie to you"

"Most likely," said the angel coolly.

"Oh. Right. Heh. Well, I'm not, this time."

The angel's expression grew even frostier. "I was told that the angel Razael had come here as well, to keep an eye on Aziraphale. May I speak to _him_, in that case? You may tell him that it is Uriel."

"U- Ur- Uri -" stammered Pestilence, feeling the blood drain from his face.

"No," said Sara definitely. "I told you. Go to Hell. Now excuse me, I'm going to get some more coffee." She walked off towards the kitchen.

Pestilence bowed low. "Come in, please, come in. I'm very sorry - we weren't expecting you - the house is a disaster, I'm afraid -"

Uriel gave Pestilence a long, cool look. "Why is the human woman involved with this, Horseman?" he asked as the travesty of a door swung shut behind him.

"Oh. Uh. Well...it's a long story."

"Do tell."

"She's...uh...she's a friend of Aziraphale's, you see. She owns a bookshop, just down the way -" Pestilence gestured vaguely, his mind racing. "And she was over for some tea and a book swap last night when that Rhakal fellow showed up in a rage. And you know Aziraphale. Or maybe you don't? Anyways, thinks meddling with people's memories is dead wrong. Anyways, she's a little confused right now. Too late to change her memories now, especially as Aziraphale's in Hell right now. In for a penny, in for a pound, right? Anyways, she's been useful."

"I imagine so." Uriel actually looked a little pitying. "Poor soul. Humans were not meant to be part of the doings of the divine."

"You're telling _me_. Look, I am very, very, _very_ sorry she was so rude. She's in a bit of a tough spot right now. With child, you know. Makes her moody and unpredictable," he babbled, knowing even as he said it that Sara would kill him if she knew what lies he was telling Uriel. "I'll just go and have a talk with her, shall I? Sir? Umm... make yourself at home, my lord. Just - just not in the kitchen..."

Pestilence hurried down the hallways and into the kitchen just in time to see Sara pouring herself even more coffee.

"Sara, don't. You'll make yourself sick. (6) We have to go explain things to Uriel. I told him...I told him that you were a bookshop owner, a friend of Aziraphale's. He thinks you're slightly unhinged from meeting all these angels and demons and Horsepeople. And you can't be rude. You have got an _archangel_ in the living room. We have to do something!"

"I don't care if he's the _pope_. I ought to be with Aziraphale, looking for Adele, not feeding lies to some prat with wings."

"Shhhhh! Sara, he's _more_ than the pope! Stop thinking like a human and start thinking like one of _them!_"

Sara managed a smile. "I'm sorry, Pestilence. Forgive me. This is just wearing on my nerves. I'll behave, I promise. I just feel so - so useless..."

"If we can come up with a good enough story to convince an archangel to step in on your family's behalf, you won't be," promised Pestilence. He took her arm. "Let's go. He's waiting."

-8-

"Waiting? For _me?_" Crowley protested as his demonic 'escorts' led him down the cramped passage. "I don't even know this Duke Vakurys, all right? All right? What does he want to speak with _me_ for? I'm not important. I'm just a snake. Right? People?"

No answer from the 'escort'. Crowley gave up and let himself be led along, keeping a wary eye out for Adele - or more likely, Rhakal - as they entered the great city of Dis.

He wished he could have forgotten _this_ part of Hell.

Eventually Crowley was led into a room - really just a small cavern - where a very normal-looking man sat at a desk, drinking something from a huge cup that looked and smelled suspiciously like coffee. That is...the man was normal-looking, except for the small but important fact that he was so normal-looking that it _wasn't_ normal, not at all.

Duke Vakurys looked up. "Ah. Crowley, isn't it? Do sit down."

Crowley sat.

"I am... an associate of Rhakal's, I suppose you could say. We decided between the two of us that it would be easier to negotiate things this way than if halfway through the interview our friend decided to terminate you."

"Oh," said Crowley. "Well, that's good."

"Indeed. Now, there are a few things Rhakal wishes to know that I think you can help us with. Firstly and foremost, being: who is the little angel-child's father? And where is he?"

"I don't know" lied Crowley. "Why would he want to know a thing like that?"

Vakurys leaned back in his desk and smiled. "Why do you think, Crowley? He knows who it is, but time has erased the name. He's got another grudge, of course."

"Well, I don't know what you're talking about."

"You _do_, though" Vakurys said softly. "Don't you. Tell me, Crowley. You remember Rhakal well, I think. You know he will hurt this little girl that he told me you were incredibly anxious to protect if you don't say anything."

"I don't know what he told you, but I think he was lying" said Crowley evenly. "The only person I'm anxious to protect is myself, and I couldn't have fought him with the kid clinging to me. The kid is nothing to me. I really don't know who her father is."

"Very well, then." The Duke of Hell got to his feet and sauntered to the door. He opened it. "Let me have a word with your guard, and he can go and tell Rhakal that the girl is useless. I suppose he might as well do what he likes with her, if she is nothing to any of you..."

Crowley rose to his feet, terror filling him at the thought, rage wrapping him in its hot embrace as he realized that this was simply a trap to put him exactly where Vakurys wanted him. That bastard. That _bastard_. How had he known exactly where Crowley was weakest. "_No_! You can't! Just wait, all right? Just wait. I'll -" Crowley swallowed. "I'll tell you what you want to know."

Vakurys smiled. It made Crowley want to hit him, but he restrained himself and concentrated on keeping eye contact, hoping he wasn't blinking too much. If this didn't satisfy him, then it was all over.

Come to think of it, even if it _did_ satisfy him, it was probably all over anyways.

"Well?"

"I lied. I'm sorry. I just wanted to keep out of trouble, all right? I didn't want to be considered a traitor."

"Indeed." Vakurys sat back down. "Tell me what you know, Crowley. Tell me everything."

Crowley nodded, hating himself, but knowing that he had no other option.

"I know who her father is."

-8-

(1) There is a very valid reason why demons don't need much sleep.

(2) Who said Hell was only specifically Hell to the damned, anyways?

(3) Even Heaven needs janitors...and demons are, in general, _much_ messier than angels.

(4) Although _you_ try downing twelve large cups of espresso-strength coffee and say that the caffeine has nothing to do with it.

(5) Razael had fixed it. You could tell. It had a distinctly orange and pastel purple look to it, with gold trim. Probably he was colour-blind. _Hopefully_, he was colour-blind. No one, not even Aziraphale, had such a miserable sense of style.

(6) This was momentous, as it was the first time Pestilence had ever considered this a _bad_ thing.


End file.
